It All Fell Down | A Marauder's Story

The End: Charlotte Riggs

"I pray you heal from things no one ever apologized for." - Nakeia Homer

     A pleasant trickling sound filled the kitchen as Charlotte Riggs' fixed herself another cup of tea with her favorite teal mug. She smile ever so softly at the mug Remus had given her; "To match your nails," he had said, referring to her favorite shade of nail polish. Charlie did her best to find happiness in the simplest of things these days with the war raging on the way that it was. 

     Her hand twitched slightly as her tattoo prickled hot against her skin. It wasn't uncommon these days; ever since she left school and joined the order, most days it tended to burn at least a little bit. When wasn't she in danger?

     Danger. They were all in danger. All of the time. She had put up all of the protections she could possibly think of over her little cottage, and she had done loads of research to find more– there were books strewn throughout her house proving just that. She was about as protected as she could possibly get, but still, most days she was more anxiety ridden than not. Especially after Marlene died. 

     It had almost been two months to the day since Marlene had died. The day that had changed them all. July 27th.

     The ceramic mug slid from Charlie's fingertips, crashing against the hardwood flooring. Tea rushed across the wood, seeping into its pores and crevices. Peter turned his head to the side looking at the woman, wondering what could have made her drop it.

     "Oh my god," she whispered to no one in particular. 

     Peter squinted, not quite sure what words had left her lips. "Charlie, is everything alright?"

     Her eyes had a faraway look to them, and Peter's words never quite reached her ears; she was tumbling within the depths of her own mind, a cold feeling settling within the pit of her stomach. 

     "Oh my god."

     Peter got to his feet, leaving his own cup of tea on the side table beside her couch. He approached her cautiously, reaching to place a hand on her arm. His watery blue eyes searched her ocean ones, but it was as if she couldn't see him. She looked haunted.

     "Charlie, what's wrong?"

     She blinked, and her trance was gone. "Pete," she said slowly. "I know why that date sounded so familiar."

     Peter's eyebrows came together, and he took a step back. "What date?"

     "July 27, 1981."

     His face drained of all color. "The day Marlene died."

    "I've seen it before, Wormy," she said placing each of her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes danced with madness. Her words didn't make sense, but the wheels were already turning within the thoughts of her mind.

     "Yes," he said slowly, as she turned her back to him. "You see the date every year. Well, except February 29th, I suppose, but still, that's how dates work, Charlie. I'm not following."

     She was already exiting her living room as he finished his thought. Peter knew something was wrong when she made no comment about him being a smart ass. 

     "Charlie?"

     He followed after her with a small huff with her lack of explanation and found her in her bedroom. She was digging through her leather bag that looked beaten to hell. She pulled out hair ties and old chocolate frog rappers before letting out a sound of frustration. 

      "The bloody hell are you looking for?"

    She ignored his comment and proceeded to dump the contents of her bag onto the floor with her thick journal topping the pile. Charlie let out a sound of victory as she made a grab for the notebook.